


whatever our souls are made of

by 1031



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:23:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1031/pseuds/1031
Summary: A (hopefully) growing collection of my short Emmerdale tumblr one shots-each chapter is it's own fic, though they could be read as if they all exist in the same universe





	1. Chapter 1

There are days, not many, not anymore, but there are days where Aaron still curls in on himself, wraps himself in blankets and hides from the world; hides as if the old ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ is real, because if it is then maybe, just for a moment, he won’t feel the weight of eyes on him, heavy with history and pity as he shows them again that he’s the weakest, holding everyone back and down and he knows, he gets it, he understands. He knows.

Robert knows these days, doesn’t dread them anymore, not now that he knows the whats and whys and hows, he knows the inside and outs of Aaron, plans on knowing all of it forever, his strength and his passions, his loyalty and his doubts; so no, he doesn’t dread these bad days, these few solemn days a year- but he hates them for what they do to Aaron- dull his movements, make him small and unassuming, so very, very unlike the boy he fell in love with and drastically different from the man he’s become. He know now to look and see, to try to understand where he’s needed and how he’s wanted, when to give space and when to come closer, because he also knows and gets it and understands. He has these days too, after all.

This day, today, this is a closer day, where Robert burrows underneath their covers too, attempts to wrap himself in and on top of, underneath and around Aaron, surrounding him with a warm body, soft breath and constantly moving hands; firm, solid hands that speak of presence and peace and patience, a trait Robert didn’t know he’d possessed, not in this way, not until it really mattered. And Aaron turns into his hands, seeking him out, arms coming up and around his neck, head tilted back ever so slightly, and Robert loves him, completely and clearly and unconditionally. He knows it’s not perfect and that it doesn’t fix it all, but it’s there in the forefront of everything he does and is and will be, this love for him. ’

‘There you are’ he whispers, and it’s soft, the response, just a quiet breathe of a thank you across his lips and it’s not a question, but he pushes his answer into their kiss, past Aaron’s lips and down his throat, into his lungs where he hopes it’ll take root so every time he takes a breath he’s filled with 'you’ and 'love’ and 'I’ and all the hope they bring him when he can’t quite get past the words others say, hopes that when it all gets to be a bit much and Aaron can’t catch his breath, the air trapped somewhere deep inside, he hopes it catches on the words he’s planted there and it brings him comfort, eases the hurt and the pain and the wants and needs of the world, dims them, calms them until every breath in is a 'love’ and every breath out is a 'you’, a constant stream; a mantra, a repetition of what matters most, because that’s it, in the end. That’s the bit that makes everything else make sense, more bearable and wonderful and real, brings everything important into focus and helps keep the ugly at bay. Aaron nods, his nose cold where it rests in the hollow of Roberts throat and his lips dry against bare skin, whispers an 'I know’ into his chest. And he does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set after Robert walks out on November 30th

His mum told him once, years and years that feel like minutes ago, that if he wanted to survive he needed to be like the willow tree; needed to sway and twist and bend with the wind, needed roots that grew deep and wide, roots bigger than himself. He didn’t totally understand, not then, just thought about the roots he’d seen jutting up through the ground, cracking and tearing where they didn’t belong. He just wanted to grow, wild and unruly, free and untamed.

There’s a willow on his street and on clear days, if he cranes his neck, if he stretches just enough, then he can see it from the window of their bedroom. But today’s not a clear day and his neck’s beginning to ache from the angle.

He thinks if he went outside and let the wind tear at his clothes, the rain sting his skin, feel the thunder roll down from the sky and through him, down into the earth, down, down until he’s shaking with it; he thinks maybe then he wouldn’t feel anything at all because his outside would finally even out his storming insides. But he doesn’t, doesn’t move from his spot by the window, by the black, by glass that does little but project his face, and the glaring, obvious, gaping space next to him, projects that stupid glaring image back to him, as if he could forget the one that’s supposed to be there. He understands roots now. He understands uprooted too. Wishes he didn’t understand the correlation.

The wind howls and he remembers a song, vaguely, the way you do a memory, the kind where you’re not sure if you really lived it or if it’s just a story you’ve been told again and again. A song about wanting the heart and the soul, about broken hearts and waiting for moments that just don’t come. He wants to remember it all, wants to drown out the rain and his heartbeat pounding, trying to keep rhythm with something it can’t quite follow. He wants to fight. Wants to rage and kick and howl and fight the world until it unclenches its fist and relents, lets go of its wants and expectations, lays down its arms so he can keep going, so he can look at his past and his future and figure out how they match up. He wants truths to be easy and reconciliations to be simple, wants to push back the branches obscuring his eyes and blink, blinded by the influx of light, wants warm smiles and hands that know, wants old laughter and new experiences; he wants to rebuild himself in his own manner, replant himself in his own image, surrounded by him, wants to bury his roots deep and solid and strong. He wants and wants and misses and aches.

He leans his head against the cold glass and cranes his neck, looking for a glimpse of the willow through the rain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by Tori Amos at the time and:

It’s dark when Aaron wakes, the lights strung up outside the window muted by the falling snow, the telly and the air hushed. He can just hear the music playing from another room, a soft carol, one he’s heard so many times and he closes his eyes again, just for a second, to listen to the words and to the soft ins and outs of breaths of the person next to him; the words singing about being together if the fates allow but the breathes speak of a promise, not by fates allowance but by their own-a promise of fight and fervor and faith and family and finally. Of forever. 

It’s warm in the room, a comfortable heat that sits in his chest and his bones, rolls through him, settles beneath his shirt and on his skin, making him slow and heavy; comfortable. Time is lenient, the tick of the clock on the wall meaning nothing but another passing moment spent in this warmth, wrapped up in thoughts and arms-everything this past year has brought existing and suspended in this space of nothing, of quiet breath and warm skin.

It’s dark and warm, and Aaron thinks about moving but pauses-feels the weight of Robert next to him, curled close and soft and quiet, the way he only is when they’re home-his breaths a constant rhythm across his neck, thinks he’d know that particular cadence anywhere, knows it better than anyone’s-there’s a weight to his body, to their love that he’d recognize even if he’d lost all his senses, as familiar to him as his own skin. He looks across the room and feels the phantom weight of Liv from where she’s cocooned on the floor, the light from the telly playing across her face, soft and young- he likes to think he’s come to recognize her weight and breath and love as well, knows he’d never stop fighting the world for her, not if she needed something. 

It’s dark and it’s warm and it starts suddenly, the feeling in his chest-it sits right there in the middle, quiet and insistent and so very familiar that he almost doesn’t recognize it, not at first, not used to the contentment, the wholeness, always too wary to fully embrace it, but as he lays back against the cushions, feels Robert’s hair under his cheek, as his fingers brush over the hand that rests on his stomach, he gives in, lets it wash over him, lets it cover and envelop him and wrap him up until he’s almost shaking at the onslaught. He doesn’t fight it, just tightens his arms around the man beside him and let’s himself feel it. Welcomes it home. 

It’s dark and it’s warm and he’s happy.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s late, everyone else long gone to bed; tucked in and wrapped up-the beginning of a new year met with laughter and joy, hope and promise; bright lights and shouts of well wishes. It’s dark now, quiet enough for Robert to feel as if him and Aaron are the only two awake in the world, skin to skin and tangled together, wrapped up in each other and in starlight; the threads of their past and future woven together, creating a path that Robert can’t wait to travel.

The lights framing the window dance across Aaron’s skin and Robert can’t help but to chase them with his fingers, his lips-his nose brushing over skin and muscle and bone, until Aaron can feel him all the way down to his heart and in his soul and pulls him up so they’re face to face, smiles drink and love slowed; Robert chases that too, tasting champagne and Aaron and home, beginnings and endings and every moment in between fizzing on their tongues, popping and crackling across chests and down, into their hearts. Robert places his lips there, right above that fragile muscle, his favorite part of Aaron-presses his lips lightly on that swell of skin, holding Aaron’s heartbeat in his mouth, running soft, gentle fingers up and down his sides, just to feel his heart beat faster under his lips, the steady one, two, three the only feeling, the only sound that’s ever made perfect sense to him. 

He can feel Aaron’s energy cackle just below his skin, sparking and reacting to his touch, thrumming like a live wire-he wants to touch it, taste it all, feel it pop and spark along his own flesh; and he does, with love on his hands and promises in his mouth, he touches and revels and chases, his own body reacting in turn-each touch a burn, a mark and a promise and a jolt that echoes through and into both of them, strong and fast and powerful, echoing across hearts and minds until they’re both born anew, solid and strong and as full of promise as a new year.


	5. Chapter 5

The pub is loud, the sounds of family, their family, moving around-laughing, happy and excited and Robert closes his eyes, relishes it, amazed and in awe of all he’s gained-he’d thought, for so long, that his life was to be defined by his losses and yet somehow, some way, he ended up here and he opens his eyes, sees Aaron smile at him from across the room and is struck by him, his unguarded expression- his gaze steady and strong and so, so full. Full of their past and present and all the memories that make up them and Robert’s already been given so much-he’s not sure he deserves this, but when he thinks of Aaron, thinks of everything they’ve done and said and lived and loved through he knows he doesn’t belong anywhere else.

Because when he thinks back, it’s all Aaron, it’s all them, always.

He remembers not wanting to deal with idiots and being surprised, he remembers back seats and road ways and lies about broken down cars. 

Aaron looking at him like he’s never seen anything so beautiful; Robert wondering if he’s ever looked in the mirror. 

Screaming for Aaron to come kill a spider in the kitchen and then dealing with fake ones in random spots for weeks.

Aaron sitting on a couch, cheeks wet and arm bandaged, lost and hunched in, looking small and scared. Robert crying himself to sleep later, on the floor and unsure of everything except for the man across the room. 

Hotels and barns, bridges and back rooms.

He remembers saying “if you still want me” and “you know” and “no one else comes close”, remembers strength and bravery and wanting to be relied on. Remembers hearing “I will do” and “I know” and “I never stopped”.

Robert half under their bed, swearing up and down that he’d left his phone right fucking there, Aaron smirking by the door, enjoying the view and flipping a phone in his hand. Being late to work. 

Aaron drunk and giggling, face upturned and eyes crinkly.

Aaron drunk and somber, running light fingers over Roberts face and saying “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened that ever made you sad.“ 

Aaron’s arms curled around himself, fingers tight on his uppers arms, telling him to open the top drawer and throw it away, cause he doesn’t trust himself. 

Christmases and holidays. Staircases and courtrooms.

Remembers Chas saying "you will have years” and the beautiful, amazing, wondrous sense of hope he felt. Remembers heart monitors and hospital chairs, a rainy funeral and a new ring settled perfectly on his finger.

Aaron finding his sister. Robert finding a second. 

The look on Aaron’s face when he thinks he’s done something good. When he thinks he’s being funny. Aaron eating cereal out of the box, grinning cause he knows it drives him mad. 

Whispering “I can’t believe I wasted so much time” while sitting next to a hospital bed, a hand squeezing his lightly in return. 

Aaron listening when Robert haltingly tells stories about his mum, about school and what he did while he was away. Aaron’s hands never faltering.

A night spent with carton of ice cream and two spoons, sitting on the floor of the kitchen, pressed close and talking about the future. Not being scared of the future for the first time.

Aaron’s hands, calloused and as familiar to him as his own, strong fingers wrapped around his, secure and sure. Unwavering. 

Hearing “I do." 

No, he thinks, as he walks towards that smile, he couldn’t have ended up anywhere else. No where else could even come close.


	6. Chapter 6

The first time Aaron fits himself into Robert's arms it’s like everything settles; his mind, the fear that claws at his stomach, his heart -the very air around them stills, holds its breath in trepidation, preparation, in anticipation of what it means, what it could mean, what they might let it be. 

They fit, see, for all the pushing and pulling and prodding they’ve done from the outside; the arranging and rearranging they’ve done to each other’s lives, to their own, at the very bottom of it all, at the heart and end of it all-when their arms slide together, over shoulders and clutching at backs, chins on shoulders, feet between feet, hearts beating together; settled and sure-when they come together as one, all the edges smooth, the weight lifts and they fit, constantly-consistently. The world outside could shift and turn and burn, they themselves could fall and cave and want nothing more than to throw their up their hands and say no, no, no more, because it hurts-living and loving like they do-but they’ve never been the kind to turn away, not when it works, not when it fits, not when it softens and amplifies every touch, every word, every bit of themselves-makes them better and more and, and, and. 

They find ways to find words; words that curl themselves around what they have, position themselves into their lives-compromise and trust, found and find; words that have to stretch themselves over miles and time apart-stretch over the aches and pains of the space where arms can’t reach, where arms can’t soothe or comfort, because words aren’t needed when arms are available to hold, not always; and they’ve learned to read the press of their bodies- know when a press of lips means sorry, and when they mean help, when hands mean stay and when they mean go, but never away. Never, ever away. 

They make it work, through it all, they fight and scratch and tear because how could you not stand strong, stand up and for something that fills you up and brings you to your knees, holds you, cradles you, protects and cares and swallows and holds you up in the face of everything else. They hold on- to the peace they found, to the strength they pull from each other, vow to keep their grips strong and steady, to never waver- and every time Aaron fits himself into Robert's arms it’s like everything settles, but the air doesn’t hold it’s breath anymore because it knows this kind of thing, has seen this kind of love, and has never seen it fail.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Robron week day 5-Pillow Talk

He'd missed the sun. The warmth of it, the security, the ability to walk outside whenever he wanted-tilt his head up, close his eyes and just feel. He'd missed a lot of things, his bed, his favorite mug, sitting in the pub, Adam's laugh and Liv's hugs, space to move and good food and his mum-god he'd missed his mum. 

And Robert. The way he would make tea in the mornings-squinty eyed and sleep blurry-but always just the way he liked it, the way he'd casually wrap an arm around his waist; how he always knew exactly what Aaron needed, or if he didn't, would go to the ends of the earth to figure it out. He missed his heartbeat under his ear while they lay in bed, missed his hands in his; the way he looked at him like he was special, like he was important, like he was bigger and more beautiful than the stars-he'd missed the nights they'd go outside and lay on the picnic tables, side by side, half on top of the other-underneath the sky and the love he felt....he knew it could fill up that sky and more; the love they have, the love that they've grown-it's bigger than any universe, bigger than the stars and the moon, the oceans and the sun. 

He'd never given the sun much thought before, but now, waking up on his first morning home and feeling it on his face-he soaked it in, kept his eyes closed and let it fill him up, the arm around his waist solid and comfortable, a missing weight that had finally found it's rightful place again. He turns, letting the sun warm his bare back, the ache for skin to skin contact with the man next to him needed and craved and welcomed after so long-he turns and opens his eyes, opens them to a new day and a new beginning and knows he's done looking back. 

He opens his eyes, and with the sun still at his back, he's met with a gaze that carries the exact same feeling. He's warm all over, it seeps in and through and around him, covers him and envelops him. 

"Hi." 

It's whispered, quiet and still and so incredibly full of promise; a voice that Aaron knows he'll never get tired of hearing-a voice that's carried him through, will carry him through, a voice that heals and promises and loves and binds. A voice he'd do anything for. 

"I missed you." 

It's the only thing he can say, and the truth of it burns out of him, clearing away the past and he feels it, deep down, the promise of what's to come. 

Robert smiles at him from across the pillow and Aaron thinks of sunshine, basks in it, revels and blooms and stretches out a hand so he can hold it in his palm, feels the light kiss that's placed there-the gentlest of touches-he soaks it in and holds on to its heat. He reaches out and feels the sun under his hand and thinks: home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Robron Week day 7-jukebox

_I’m dancing in the dark with you between my arms_  
barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song  
when you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath  
but you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight 

If asked, Robert knows he can’t explain love-it’s not tangible, except when it is: a hand wrapped in his, the warmth left behind on sheets, the food left covered in the fridge for when he gets home late. But he can’t put that into words, the feeling that rises and swells up in him, can’t explain the smile on his face or the pull in his bones that always points him where he needs to go; where he’s supposed to be. 

When he thinks about love, he thinks of vows in a garage, a family in a pub, the cool metal on his finger and a home down the road. He thinks of all the time spent in corner booths and backroom couches; thinks of shower gel, hugs and goodbyes-thinks of not looking back-because he’s done with that, forever and always, he’s done thinking about the hows and whys and whens of it all. He knows he’ll get lost, they’ll stumble and fall and lose track of themselves and each other, he knows that almost as much as he knows that they’ll get up, find their footing-grab hold and keeping moving because when he thinks about love?

He thinks about a dance, barefoot and spinning in the pre-dawn, dew damp grass, laughing, and so so so incredibly in love. Pressing smiling kisses to any bit of skin they can reach, breathless and tired-running on drink and happiness and each other, minds full of nothing but this and here and now, eyes closing only in laughter lest they miss a single moment-hands clutching shoulders to stay upright and hearts beating: one, two, three, you, me, us. Steady, strong, hopeful beats, his favorite sound-the sound of life being lived here, with him, and he follows it-the rhythm those beats lay out-lets them lead him around and around the yard in a dance only they knew, would know, will always know. 

He’s not sure he deserves it, this love, but he has faith in it, and that’s something he’s never known before-it’s hard and it’s painful and it requires more from him than anything he’s ever done but he’ll never give up, he’ll fight everything this world throws at them because when he thinks of love? 

He thinks of Aaron.

_Fighting against all odds_  
I know we’ll be alright this time  
darling, just hold my hand  
I see my future in your eyes 


	9. Chapter 9

The couch is cold when Robert wakes. Wakes, as if it’s possible to do such a thing when you’ve not slept at all. The couch was cold when he got in, cold when he pulled up the duvet and closed his eyes, colder still when he opened them again to stare out, up and unseeing at the ceiling, thoughts like a river-rushing and raging and violent, thoughts that he couldn’t help but attempt to cross even though it feels as if he’s forgotten how to swim-but nothing’s been warm in so long, feels even longer than that-and Robert, Robert doesn’t know if he remembers what warm feels like, not anymore. 

Thing is, when he stands next to, stood next to-is, in whatever way, next to Aaron he knows what hope feels like, what love and pride and home feel like. Finally understands what being settled feels like-in his bones, in his heart. They fight and tear and claw because how could they not, how could he not-not when it feels like this, not when everything he’s ever been told of life and love is right there-right there and it’s beautiful and it’s good and it’s everything. And now. 

Now is a countdown of hours until a phone call and days till a visit; now is helplessness and hopelessness, listlessness and a type of tired that’s heavy on his shoulders and weighs down his bones-a tired that’s constant and consistent; it’s a physical pain that yells and scratches, a fear that presses down every hour of everyday and it’s like he can’t breath through it. The first time they kissed it was like his lungs cleared, dust and stone easing away as if they hadn’t set up residence there long ago and his first breath after was filled with Aaron. Filled with promise and everything that was to come-the good and the bad and every single, tiny meaningless and meaningful detail in between-his first breath after his first kiss with Aaron was easy and clear. And now. 

Now, the couch is cold when Robert wakes. It’s cold and it’s hours away from 6 o'clock-the day stretches and winds and he’s not sure how to even take a step-not anymore, not like this. 

He blinks, once. Twice, three times-he takes a breath and he’s fine. 

He’s fine.


	10. Chapter 10

The thing about foundations, Aaron thinks, standing in the middle of a room that was meant to be his, be theirs, be new and kind and good-still smelling faintly of paint and sawdust, of being built, of being gutted and razed then started again-the thing about foundations is that they’re the starting point; the building block for everything else-what keeps everything solid and standing and strong. And maybe, he thinks, closing his eyes and taking a breath, a breath that smells of the rain outside, the man behind him, of fresh air and freedom-maybe everything wasn’t a lie-maybe every promise and secret shared, every I love you and you know was strong, was honest and true-maybe all of those bricks did add up to a home but what they did at the beginning-the very thing they attempted to build upon was weak and weathered and needed fortifying before anything else. Maybe he, him, they, needed to be stronger, healthier, sturdier. It’s hard, after all, to stand firm when the very ground itself is shaky and uneven, piled with love, but cracking underneath a weight it wasn’t made to bear. 

Maybe it’s not about the demolition, but about what’s left standing; maybe it’s not about the falling down but about the act of rebuilding. Maybe they have to dig through the rubble to find the strongest bits and use those to build their foundation-again. Better, with love and honesty and balance. He turns, puts his back to the room and holds out his hand-holds out hope and trust that they can do this, knows that they can because he’s seen the foundation of this man, seen its cracks and plasters and bruises and knows he’s done the same and loves him anyway. Regardless or because of or despite, it doesn’t matter; he reaches out his hand and it’s steady, sure ,and the fingers that curl around his, tugging him in towards the press of a warm body are familiar and careful-fingertips that press love into his skin and down, through muscle and bone and into his veins were it fills him, helps and heals and sings through him, love that has him lifting his face, curling up and around and towards that all consuming warmth, to squeeze the hand tangled with his and whisper, “let’s fix this.”

And they do. Face to face, hands on cheeks and chests, hearts reaching across the spaces between them-beating together: one, two, three-they look at their wreckage and say no, no more cracked floors and patched up walls, no more half fixed problems glossed with paint; it’s time to say yes. Yes to a fight together, for and with each other-and side by side they tear it down and build it, build them, themselves, up stronger and smarter-with care and tears and screams, with truth and hearts laid bare-with hope in one hand and determination in the other, they march forward. 

They fight and they love so that later, here, there, wherever they are, with all that’s behind and all that’s ahead-they’re unshakable


	11. trying to remember how it feels (to have a heartbeat)

It’s weird, this in between time. They’re here and they’re together, not solid or sturdy, not even totally upright and no where near the happiness they each so desperately want but they’re here. They’re here and they’re together, and it’s so much more than Robert even let himself hope for-not dream about because you have to sleep to dream and he’s been running on coffee and white knuckled hope for so long that he’s scared to close his eyes for too long lest it all disappear. 

But now it’s out there, his biggest mistake and regret still hovering in the air, the words floating around their heads like nagging, hungry crows, waiting for the next explosion, words that take up space and make it hard to breathe properly, words that leave little room for the others: the ones whispered late at night, still on the floor and both wary to move, to break the fragile air that dripped onto their clothes, attempting to wash away the stains left by fathers, by lies and guilt, by each other and themselves-stains that clung and refused to come clean no matter how hard they scrubbed. 

It’s out now, a weariness, a wariness, a wistfulness that sits on their shoulders because it’s out but it’s not over and now they’re stuck in between. How do you move forward when there’re so many strings reaching back, far, far, farther than either understands or knows-how do you continue on when you reach for one of those soft, fragile words but are constantly met with darkness and hurt instead? Will the crows leave-if they stop feeding them with their anger? Will the fragile ones ever grow larger, big enough to swallow the angry, hurtful ones they grew from?

“I don’t know." 

It’s whispered, quiet and weary-an answer to a question Robert doesn’t remember asking, or maybe has been for a long time. He doesn’t know either. But he knows the man next to him, knows his heart and his courage, his mind and his hands, and it’s the feel of them under his, grip tight and true, it’s their solidity that he anchors himself to, resting the tips of his fingers just so; feels that steady rhythm-the one, two, three, I, love, you, messed, up, forever, beat against his skin-feels that heart that makes him whole and knows.

They’re together and they’re here-they’re in between but they’re here and with Aaron’s heart beating steady, steady, surely under his fingers-they’re okay.


End file.
